


Death's Art

by InfinityMidnight



Category: Percy Jackson and the Olympians - Rick Riordan, The Heroes of Olympus - Rick Riordan
Genre: Blood, Gore, M/M, Murder, Violence, human!AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-18
Updated: 2015-05-19
Packaged: 2018-02-21 16:22:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,421
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2474672
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/InfinityMidnight/pseuds/InfinityMidnight
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rip, Tear, Cut, Slice<br/>Art of Death<br/>The Ghost King, Murder<br/>The Prince of the Sea, Police</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Anyone that cannot handle gore and blood, this isn't for you  
> Percico because I have yet to read Blood of Olympus and don't know what is happening with Nico

The teen giggled madly, the dark, dark eyes staring at the blood-strewn wall. The crimson streaks painting a beautiful rose. The petals gentle strokes of blood spreading off towards the corners, each one placed with care and feeling. The whole flora covered the whole wall, the flower curling around the wall, the smell as sweet as the real rose with a hint of iron. Scratches lined the bottom of the wall, the paint peeling to expose red dyed wood that was soaking in the liquid. The man was coated in blood, his pale skin a contrast to the bright red of liquid life and the redish brown like the basement where there laid the bodies of a woman. He knew there was child crying over the cold, icy body.

He could imagine the blond piggy tail turning into a true strawberry blond as the mother's blood seeped between the fair hair. The smell of salt from the tears. The childish crying that echoed in the locked room. How they wouldn't find those two until the day after the man.

A low groan came from beside him, a weak hand scrabbling at his ankle, the nails covered in dried, crusted blood and pieces of flesh torn from the palms lie under the nails. He smiled down at the dying man, the corners never reaching his eyes. It was cold. Murderously cold. He bent down, flicking a sterling silver knife open as he did so. He was careful not to rest he body in the growing pool of scarlet. It flowed like the capes of the knights of Camelot. So beautiful and shiny. Like felt or velvet.

He jabbed the knife into the man's spleen, the one spot that wasn't covered in angry red cuts and vivid blue and purple bruises. He knew his time was running out. The grains of ichor soaked sand trickling down, never to be captured again. One last stab with the serrated knife and he could hear the shrill siren of the police outside. The multicolored lights flashing through the front bay window. The blue and red highlighting the teen and making the painting disappear only to reappear a flash later. The neighbors probably reported him from all the torturous screams that had been happening the past hour. The murder wipe the bloody dagger on his dark jeans and climbed out the window, leaving a simple letter behind.

Dear police,  
Isn't it lovely? I made it specially for you! Maybe one day we can sit down to have a drink? I have a lovely bottle of O negative blood that is screaming to be drunken. One day.  
Love your best murder,  
The Ghost King

\--------------------

The white bleached bones curved upwards, the ribs reaching out to hug the blue sky. Lazy clouds floated, not minding the terribly beautiful scene below. Blood drops hanging from the tips of the tiny finger bones, the tips of the ribs, the tip of the broken shards, as the hallow sockets for the eyes screamed pain and torture. The fluid from the eyes which were gorged out coated the skull making it shine in the low light. He pulled off the now ruby red surgical gloves, his fingers quickly rubbing the fingerprints inside the glove to destroy them.

Careful to not disturbed the slightly unstable structure of bones and tendons, the teen stepped out from between the severed spine that curved into the dirt like a worm. The whole thing looked like it came straight out of a nightmare. It looked like a warped dream. The bones of three separate people were used for this master piece. The ribs for wings, the spines for an anchor. It was a demented angel or a demon by most standards.

The Ghost King took a step back to look at his work, a wicked smile on his face. His lips stretched thin as he laughed manically.

Dear Police,  
Do you think an angel is looking out for you? Maybe I need to give you more hints? Next is a very small person, so young and innocent, it's almost a shame to turn her into a work of art but nonetheless, she will be remembered just like she liked. Hopefully I will be too to you.  
Love,  
The Ghost King

\---------------------

The stomach was torn open, the contents inside was pouring out on to the ground where the earth met with the young, fresh blood. The child's face was covered in scratch marks from where she clawed at her own face in pain. Her throat was in shreds as her own screams made her drown in her blood. The teen only wanted to help her get it out of her lungs so he cut her open. The ribs pulled out while she was awake. He even made sure to shot her full of dextroamphetamine to keep her brain working. He didn't want her sleeping in the middle of the party. That would be rude. 

The screams were delicious, the bones broken and bent out of shape. The murder licked the blood off his fingers slowly, the drops of ruby liquid sliding warm down his throat. She hadn't lived long enough to get the fat that would clog up the arteries and veins in later life, her lungs were not blacken with pollution. She was only 3. He cradled her body, singing a small lullaby as the muscles froze in it's position until later when rigor mortis would fade. He let the tears roll down his face, his whole body thrumming with the happiness her death allowed him.

She should thank him. He prevented her from experiencing the pain of life. The harsh words of people, the disapproval, the destruction of everything. He was doing her a favor.

Dear Police,  
I hope you are enjoying this as much as I am. I miss you and I still love you. Tell her that I am sorry about everything. Just one more, one more till goodbye.  
Love,  
The Ghost King

\---------------------

If the ghost king could see his final and best artwork, he would have had an aneurysm. The body hung from the a water tower, the pale face drawn on with delicate swirls of blood. The once cherry lips pale and lifeless as the body swung in the gentle breeze. The black tussled hair covering the once lively eyes. His already pale skin tinted blue from the carbon built up. Drips of blood trickled out of the corner of the bodies' mouth from where the tongue was bitten and the broken bruise in the neck and lungs. The skin around the silk rope drawn tight and scrunching his skin into a slightly pink color. His chest was a slight lump where the blood had pooled in the right chambers of his heart, the left completely voided of blood.

The fingers were digging into the palms of the body's hands. Blue next to red on white. He was never supportive of nationalism but it made the other happy so the final act was a big declaration of love for the person. He was dressed in black, his aviator jacket hung limp on the dead body. The chain was threaded through the loops on the black skinny jeans. The blood couldn't be seen on the fabric but the collar of his t-shirt was soaked. The color glowing on the white around his neck.

A single white rose tied to his neck with the silk.

Dear Percy,  
This is a final goodbye. I hope you are fine. I am terribly sorry but I hope you can forgive me. If you can't, I understand. I always have loved you. I was a coward. I ran when you had married her. I'm sorry for killing her. I was jealous that I wasn't the one you loved. I couldn't look at your girl that looked so much like you. I wanted to protect her like you did for me. I saved her.

I truly wish that you can forgive me but even I can't forgive myself

One last time, love  
The Ghost King, Nico Di Angelo


	2. Author's Note

The previous chapter was rewritten and now the plot is easier to see. For those who didn't get it, Nico is a serial killer who killed first Sally and Paul and their child was spared. Next was Annabeth and her twin little brothers. The child was Percy's and Annabeth's little girl and the last was because he regretted his actions and the fact he was depress that Percy wasn't his. The End.


End file.
